


And when my time is up, have I done enough?

by rlwrites



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post Season 3, and this is what became of them, i had a lot of feelings about the finale, slight hint of anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:23:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7243024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rlwrites/pseuds/rlwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Not yet.”</p>
<p>Bellamy’s been thinking about those words non-stop since Clarke said them in that damn tower in Polis three days earlier.  His mind has been parroting them since she explained how little time they had left.  How everything they’d been in a panic to save wasn’t actually safe after all.  Not yet. </p>
<p>Unless they figure out how to stop it, there are only six months until it is all gone.  Everything. </p>
<p>It’s been three days of tireless discussions, plans, ideas, arguments, whatever.  Raven has been driving herself mad trying to figure a way out, but even her level of genius isn’t enough.  There’s no way.  Bellamy can’t see any way out of this and the ticking down of their days left are making him stressed. </p>
<p>Or: Bellamy needs to relax and Clarke knows just how to make him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And when my time is up, have I done enough?

“Not yet.”

Bellamy’s been thinking about those words non-stop since Clarke said them in that damn tower in Polis three days earlier.  His mind has been parroting them since she explained how little time they had left.  How everything they’d been in a panic to save _wasn’t actually safe_ after all.  Not yet. 

Unless they figure out how to stop it, there are only six months until it is all gone.  Everything. 

It’s been three days of tireless discussions, plans, ideas, arguments, whatever.  Raven has been driving herself mad trying to figure a way out, but even _her_ level of genius isn’t enough.  There’s no way.  Bellamy can’t see any way out of this and the ticking down of their days left are making him stressed.  

Bellamy’s head pounds like he’s been beating it against the wall, in time with the countdown clock on the wall in Arkadia’s council room–182 days, 181 days, 180 days.  It pounds in time with the echoing in his brain–not yet, not yet, not yet.  

“Bellamy,” someone says, soft and low.  

It’s Clarke—of course it’s Clarke, and she’s reaching out for him, stopping him from banging the heels of his palms into his temples—something he wasn’t even fully aware of doing.  Her hands are small and cold and they help to pull him back from toeing the very edge of sanity.

“Hey guys, how about a break?” she says.  “I think we could all use some sleep.”

Bellamy isn’t sure what happens next.  He assumes they all agree.  Or maybe they don’t and Clarke pulls him away anyway.  Either way, he ends up sitting on his bed in his old room in Arcadia, feeling weary and weighed down.  He knows he must look belligerent, his eyes unfocused and the skin under them puffy and dark from stress and lack of sleep.  The crease in Clarke’s brow tells him as much.

“Bellamy, are you okay?”

He scrubs a hand across his face.  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he sighs, but Clarke is too smart to believe him.  She’s always been too smart for him.  She crouches in front of him, studying him with a sympathetic twist of her lips.

“Well, you look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks.”  Bellamy would probably laugh if it weren’t for the fact that he was so bone-dead tired. 

She softens then, and it almost breaks his heart.  “Bell, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

He sighs again.  “I just…doesn’t it feel impossible?  It’s like every time we think we’re in the clear, _something_ else comes along, something ten times worse.  It’s never ending.  I…“  He has to look away.  He can’t face the pity he might find in her eyes.  ’m fucking terrified, to be honest. I just—”

Bellamy’s hands are shaking now, and his eyes begin to dart around the room, just as erratic as his breathing.  

“Bell, it’s okay,” she shushes.  She reaches for his wrist, and the memory of a past moment, just like this, hits him smack in his chest.  The irony is just cruel.  “It’s going to be okay, just breathe.  You need to relax, okay?  Just breathe.”

But he can’t slow himself down.  He’s trying to suck in air, but he can’t seem to get enough air.  He’s trying not to drown under the stress and pressure of the ever-present countdown looming over all of their heads, but the harder he fights, the harder it is to stay above water.  Pressure is building, building building—

Until Clarke presses her mouth against his.  And when he still doesn’t relax, she does it again until he slowly begins to melt into her, slowly begins to kiss her back.

She  _makes_ him relax.  He can feel the tension begin to drain from his body as her tongue finds his.  And when she pulls back, he can finally breathe out in relief.  

She kisses his forehead, his eyelids, his nose.  Not his cheek—no, that was another time, never his cheek anymore–t he back of his neck, the juncture of his shoulder and neck, his shoulder blade all get his attention.  His breastbone, the wicked scar on his ribs.

That’s when he opens his eyes and sees the love in hers.  Pulls her slowly back up to kiss her.  Soft, unhurried, slow.  Everything this life of theirs on the ground isn’t.  Everything he’s been craving since before he could even remember. 

Time.  She makes him feel like he’s got he’s got an eternity. Like the world isn’t going to end in six months.  Like everything they’ve been through isn’t all for naught. 

She is like Dido calling to him, Aeneas.   _I beg a little time because there was some hope of.._.  He won’t allow himself to finish the line, that is something even he cannot hope for.  But time, yes. That is not so big a request. 

So that’s what he gives her.  He slows down and gives his time.  He learns her mouth in all the ways he thought about when he let his mind wander.  He learns that she makes the sweetest little noise when he slides his hand up her spine and into her hair.  He learns that her breath grows ragged when he drags his mouth across the delicate skin at the swell of her breasts, that her breath halts completely when he dips his hands into waistband of her underwear.  

Even when he feels the rushing, pushing, aching to give and take, he lays back and gives her more time.  He lets her hands learn the dips and divots of his body, lets her learn what spots make him groan and what spots make his breath ragged and what spots make it impossible to breath altogether.  He lets her pull him apart with her mouth until he’s squirming, lets her ride him with an almost painfully unhurried speed. 

And while they lay pressed together, sated and boneless, he revels in the time they have stolen.  What’s a few hours in the span of 180 days.  He can afford that much.  He’s content to just _be_ with her, in any way he can, but then she’s nosing into his neck and breathing words he never thought he’d hear, giving him more time.  “I love you, Bellamy.  We’ll figure this out, I know we will.  Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks everyone. Let me know what you think! You can also come yell about these punks with me at my tumblr: [braverybros](http://braverybros.tumblr.com/).


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